


Other Gold

by maschh



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Best Friends, FC Barcelona, Hero Worship, Leo is too much for everyone no one can be cool, M/M, Oral Sex, first time (for Leo)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-05
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-08-13 03:30:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7960738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maschh/pseuds/maschh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Piqué is always late to training. Leo might like him better than he likes anyone on the planet. And Piqué wants to worship Messi just as much as everyone else does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Other Gold

“Here he comes,” says Luis, as Piqué jogs onto the pitch with one shoe untied. “Hey, nice of you to join us.”

Piqué gives him a sheepish grin, all long strides and pretend hurry.

Luis shakes his head, doesn’t smile. “Four laps to start.” In a softer voice: “Now he’s rushing, huh?” The rest of them started off with three. “And tie your shoe!”  
  
Neymar grins. Piqué’s so late it almost makes him look good.

Andres bristles, Leo can see it from here. Piqué’s been late the last few training sessions, not that Leo’s counting. Andres is, though. He always does.

Piqué finishes his laps and pinches Neymar’s cheeks before he joins their passing session. In the scrimmage, his headers are sharp as ever, his tackles solid.

“Gotta get quicker, eh, kid?” he teases Leo after beating him to the ball and then clearing it thirty yards downfield. Leo is used to this from Piqué, used to worse from other teams, but for some reason, today, it grates. Disoriented, slightly out of breath, he rushes off to follow the play, leaving Piqué behind.

Two minutes later, he dodges Piqué’s slide tackle and slots the ball through the keeper’s legs. “Woo hoo hoo!” cheers Suarez into his shoulder. Leo lets himself smile. They win the scrimmage 4-2.  
  
“Hey, Leo!” calls Luis after training has finished. Leo doubles back, knowing what he’s about to hear. “Have a word with Geri, would you?” says the manager in a low voice. Leo just nods, eyes glued to the ground. Turns around and jogs away. “Leo!” says Luis again. “Thank you!” Leo looks him in the eye, holds up a hand, and runs back to the lockers.

 

  
The problem with Piqué – Leo thinks about it sometimes – is that he’s too touchy. He doesn’t like being told what to do. But the other problem – and Leo thinks about this a bit more than sometimes – is that Piqué is very touch-y. He touches Leo every training, every match. Holds him against his chest when he’s marking him, when he’s celebrating his goals, when he gets bored during Luis’s long talks. Holds his hips, brushes his ass. Tugs on his ear, plays with his hair. Caresses his cheek, whispers in his ear.

_They were straddling the bench, facing each other. “These boots!” Piqué cried. He’d offered to take off Leo's after the 4-3 clásico win. After Leo’s hat trick. “These legs!” he yelled, gripping Leo’s thigh, pulling him closer._

_Piqué emanated body heat, delirious. Leo’s legs forced on top of his. “This head,” he said, softer, holding Leo’s face. They were inches apart, Leo in just his sweaty socks and shorts. Piqué looked down at his mouth, up at his eyes. The spell somehow broke._

_He laughed a little and tapped Leo’s temple, just slightly too hard. “That’s where it all is, huh?” he said, too loudly, and then stood up, went back to changing. Looking around, Leo realized no one would have even noticed._

Leo stays too long in the shower, wastes water. Washes his face an extra four times. He mumbles goodbyes as his teammates slowly trickle out, and eventually turns off the water, wraps a towel around his waist and goes back to the locker room.

Momentarily, Piqué joins him, in his own towel. “Hey, Leo,” he says, grinning. “You know, next time I’ll make that tackle,” and he acts like he’s going to tackle Leo again, but Leo flinches. “What’s wrong, _enano_? You’re not mad at me, are you?”

“No,” Leo says softly. Piqué shrugs and finds his locker.

“Geri, how much do you owe for being late?”

The grin falters. Piqué blows out his cheeks, considering it. “I dunno, Leo. A couple hundred euro?”

Leo looks him in the eye, incredulous. “ _Neymar_ owes a couple hundred euro. Dude, Andres says, just for being late, you owe _six thousand euro_ ,” he says, lowering his voice for the last bit, a remnant of growing up poor.

Piqué had the opposite upbringing. “I – yeah, that’s a lot, I guess – I must have been late more often than…”

“It’s not me, Geri. Luis asked me to,” Leo explains, and Piqué immediately looks relieved. “And he’s right, of course. But Andres… Andres really hates it. He’s old school, you know? To him, it’s a sign of disrespect.”

Piqué scoffs, almost accidentally. “Andres. These old men, you know how they are—”

“Geri.”

“Well, what do I have to do? They know how much I respect—”

“Geri!”

“Is it cause I laugh sometimes? Play around, have fun?” He tries to pinch Leo’s bum, but Leo is much quicker.

“Geri, stop!” Leo says, laughing despite himself. Piqué’s stopped smiling, and the silence stretches.

Piqué shrugs. “Hey. Whatever you say, Leo,” he says with eye contact, without a hint of irony. He says that fairly often, and only to Leo, and only in that tone of voice. It makes Leo feel funny and he has to turn around to hide his blush.

They both fiddle around with their lockers for a while. “Want to come over? I got _mate_. And FIFA.”

Leo grunts.

“House to myself.”

“Okay.” Leo pulls on a long-sleeved shirt, stretches like a cat. His bones ache.

 

  
He doesn’t ask how they got so lucky, to have this big house to themselves. He just sinks onto the familiar, too-comfortable couch with the Xbox controller gripped in his fists.

Piqué opens a Corona and sits down beside him. The couch is enormous, but Piqué still leans against the arm and stretches his legs over Leo’s lap.

“Shouldn’t be drinking that,” Leo says without looking over.

“Fuck you, it’s light beer,” Piqué says, putting it down and grabbing a controller. “You learn how to play yet?”

“Fuck you, I know how to play,” says Leo. Piqué hyena laughs, which always makes Leo laugh too.

Leo picks Barcelona and Piqué picks Chelsea. “Picking the best team in football, huh?” tsks Piqué. “Not fair.”

Piqué beats him 5-4.

“Your defense is terrible,” says Leo.

“Not as bad as yours, though,” says Piqué.

“Well, maybe if your big fucking legs weren’t pinning me to this sofa, I’d have a better shot at defense,” Leo says, half-joking.

“Maybe I’m just an offensive maestro,” says Piqué, shrugging himself even closer to Leo.

“Yeah fucking right,” laughs Leo.

Piqué shoves his shoulder, and Leo only moves a little, but Piqué’s thighs brush against his bulge. His heart skips and he makes a little noise in his throat.

“Want to play again?”

They switch teams and Leo’s Atletico beats Piqué’s Man United 4-1.

“Lucky kid,” Piqué says, with mock disdain.

Leo grins, leans his head back, the warmth of Piqué’s legs almost overwhelming. He could fall asleep right here. “Can I stay over?” He’s done it lots of times before, but the question never comes out as easily as he wants it to.

Piqué laughs, standing up from the couch. “I was gonna say, you were looking a little sleepy.”

He leads them into the kitchen. “C’mon, have some _mate_. Before we have a rematch because I can’t believe you just beat United.”

“I always beat United,” Leo mutters.

“What was that?!”

“Nothing, nothing,” Leo chuckles, following him to the kitchen.

“Cocky little shit,” Piqué says, and almost without thinking he pins him to the counter. Leo’s breath catches in his throat and the look he gives Piqué as he looks up is a guilty one.

Piqué’s mouth looks darker, his eyes too. Belatedly, he steps back, busies himself finding the _mate_ cup.

Leo jumps up to sit the counter, rests his head against the cabinet. Closes his eyes to calm himself down. They’re quiet until Piqué hands him the drink. “Thanks,” Leo says, and sips it. It’s just how he likes it.

“Yeah, sure,” Piqué says. “Maybe I’ll make some coffee…”

“You’re gonna try not to be late, right?” says Leo. “Cause I love Andres and it’s making him miserable.”

“You love Andres?” Piqué blurts, and turns around too fast. He finds himself pressed against the counter, closer than he meant to be. Just wedged between Leo’s knees. Leo feels his grip on the cup tighten – it feels like the only barrier left between them. He puts it to one side. His limbs feel somehow heavier.

“You’re clumsy, huh?” says Leo, a laugh in his voice.

“Shut up, _ena_ —” Leo grabs his shirt and muffles him with a kiss. Piqué's body stutters, but then he kisses back with a fervor, nipping at Leo’s lips and pushing him back further.

Piqué pulls back first. “Leo, I’ve wanted—”

“Are they coming home?”

Cowed, he shakes his head. “Not tonight.”

Leo grabs him again, pushes himself flush against Piqué’s body, the same height for once. Grips his short hairs, makes him moan into his mouth. Smiles into the kiss as Piqué sneaks his hands under his thighs towards his ass.

“God, Leo, let me…” And Piqué, all half-thoughts and breathless promises, almost lifting Leo off the counter into his arms.

Leo pushes him back again and hops off the counter, looking to all the world like he’s already gotten action. He practically skips to the bedroom, leaving Piqué to trail in his wake. Praying he hasn’t misread the situation.

  
“Leo Leo Leo” is all Piqué can say as he slides Leo’s shirt off, then his sweats, then his briefs. “God, Leo.” Breathless.

Leo just smiles shyly, naked now to Piqué’s clothed, and _God_ , his body is gorgeous, all hard and compact and all that _ink_ , crisscrossing his pale skin. He lets Piqué look, lets the seconds draw on because it sends a tingling over his whole body. Then finally he steps closer and puts his arms around Piqué. “You’ve seen it all before.”

“Yeah,” Piqué says, and it sounds like his mouth is dry. “You’re golden, Leo, I swear to God you glow.”

Leo just chuckles, pulls Piqué over to the bed and whispers in his ear: “Probably just how pale I am.”

Piqué laughs stupidly. “Haha. Maybe.” He kisses Leo’s beard, down his neck, lowering him down so his head rests on the pillow, other hand underneath his thighs, caressing.

“God, Leo,” he says again. “I’ve—I’ve wanted to for so long. Will you let me?”

Leo just nods. “Whatever you want.”

Piqué groans, kissing his collarbone, his chest, other hand sliding up his thigh towards his crotch. “Nooo, Leo, not what _ever_ I want. You’d never leave this bed.”

Leo giggles, running his fingers hard through Piqué’s short hair, using his nails. “That wouldn’t be so bad,” he says coquettishly, but his breathing is quick.

“No?” Piqué says, gripping his cock _finally_. Goes back to kissing his lips, feels Leo’s moans vibrate into his mouth.

“Please.”

“Please what?” Piqué says, teasing, planting kisses all over his now slack mouth, running his long fingers over Leo’s shaft. Leo lets out a groan, his eyes falling shut. “You’re so _fuck_ ing big,” Piqué sighs, watching Leo’s dick leak precome into his hand. “How—”

Leo just chuckles, pulling Piqué’s hair a bit now.

“I can’t wait till you shove this inside me,” Piqué murmurs.

“Who says I will?” Leo manages, breathing heavily.

“Shut up,” Piqué says, actually sounding annoyed, and repositioning himself to get his head near Leo’s thick, swollen cock. He wraps his lips around the head of Leo’s cock, and the younger man gasps, jolted. And fuck, Leo is big, he has to use his hands for part of it, but he loves this, loves worshipping Leo’s cock, loves being able to do this for him.

“Fuck, Geri, please,” Leo cries as Piqué cups his balls in one hand. “ _Fuck_ , Geri, you look so good on my cock.” He hums and Leo absolutely convulses, making Piqué ease up and slow down. “You’re so – fucking good at this,” he sighs, and then laughs a little breathlessly. “You get practice on Cesc or something?” Piqué nods and Leo cries out, picturing the two of them, picturing big lug Piqué on his knees for little Cesc in the locker room, on the field, during a match, people watching –

He comes then into Piqué’s mouth, falling forward, losing track of space and time. When he opens his eyes, Piqué is wiping his wet mouth and looking at Leo like he wants to devour him. But there’s tenderness there too, and Leo watches his chest rise and fall as he sinks back onto the pillows. He can’t remember the last time he came so hard. And Piqué is still fully clothed.

“Geri,” Leo says adoringly, and Piqué grins, leaning forward to kiss him on the mouth. Leo can taste himself there, and it’s something he’s always kind of liked, knowing he’s made his mark on the other person. They kiss for a long time, and Leo can feel himself recovering. One hand lingers on Piqué’s throat, and Leo squeezes, just for a second. Piqué makes this gasping, desperate noise, and Leo remembers Piqué hasn’t been touched at all.

“You can fuck me if you want,” he says softly, and Piqué’s eyes get huge and he looks like he’s just won the lottery. His old, old friend.

“I would – really – like that,” Piqué manages.

Leo grins and turns himself over, on his hands and knees. “Leo, you might kill me,” Piqué grumbles.

“There’s lube behind you,” Leo says, and Piqué is quick to oblige. When he’s working a finger inside Leo, still slow and gentle, the Argentine says, “You really, uh, know what you’re doing.”

“Yeah,” Piqué says with a hint of pride.

“Cesc?” Leo says, and now he sounds strained.

“Yeah.” Another chuckle. “Cesc and I fucked a _lot_.”

“I never knew.”

Piqué works in another finger and Leo can’t help the noise he makes. “You okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, it sucks that Cesc’s in London now. We used to fuck like rabbits.” Leo groans, his eyes closed. “I can’t believe you never… noticed. Is this getting you hard?”

“Yes, fuck, yes,” Leo says, trying to rut back against his fingers.

“Thinking about me and Cesc? Thinking about me holding him down and sinking my dick into him?” Piqué slams his fingers in and out, just because he likes it. Likes to tease. Is experienced at it. Before Leo can answer, he slides his fingers out, and Leo throws his head down, ass in the air, frustrated at the loss of contact.

“Please, Geri, fuck,” he cries into the mattress.

Piqué runs his hands over Messi’s ass. “Yeah, Cesc is a freak. He likes it hard and rough. Not quite like you.”

Leo turns his head to the side, the better to be heard. “Geri, please, I need your cock.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” Piqué grins, and finally slides off his pants and underwear. He keeps the shirt on, and even his thin hoodie, making it look all the more obscene when he lifts Leo's ass and eases his cock into his tight hole with a hiss.

Neither of them are going to last long, he can feel it, Leo is already limp and spent and Piqué has been teased, by Leo and by himself, for so long.

“I’m gonna c—” Piqué cries.

“It’s okay,” Leo nearly interrupts. It happens after just a few thrusts, he shoots long strands of come into Leo’s ass, filling that greedy hole. Leo comes again right after, and Piqué falls on top of him, letting their tiredness from training, from the sexual tension, from all the teasing, overwhelm them. Leo feels like he’s in a haze, like his body doesn’t belong to him.

Piqué presses a kiss onto his back, before pulling out and rolling over. “God, Leo.” The Argentine just chuckles, muffled by the pillow. “You’re gonna fucking kill me.”

“I hope not, I gotta fuck your ass first,” Leo says, and they both start laughing. Leo throws his arm over Piqué’s waist without looking up, holds him tight.

“Can Cesc come?” Piqué says after a while.

Leo groans again. “He better.”


End file.
